


the weather was fine and the ocean was great

by neon_moon



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Lighthouse Keeper!Scott, Mermaid!Tessa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:03:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18832930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neon_moon/pseuds/neon_moon
Summary: The ocean, he thinks, is living.





	the weather was fine and the ocean was great

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Ballad of Love and Hate by The Avett Brothers.

The ocean, he thinks, is living. It breathes with the force of the tides, one deep inhale starting when the sun begins to set along the horizon, holding the oxygen in its lungs until the beams from a gas giant begin to show themselves again, the breath exhaling in a long stride, washing up shores and shells with the strength of its lungs. The moods of the ocean are reflected in the crashing waves; whether soft and sultry or roaring and ragged. It has the strength to draw lives in and kill them at its will. There are poems and songs and entire deities based on the entity. Myths and legends are made up simply to put a description to the force that is the ocean. But that’s exactly what they are; myths and legends, falsified claims that people use in order to make sense of a great being, what makes up seventy percent of the Earth’s surface.

On the second day of creation, God split the world between sea and sky. Long before giant trees and carnivorous animals and human beings, creatures capable of self-awareness and cognizant thoughts, the ocean was at the top of God’s priority list. There must have been a significant reason as to why.

As Scott looks out at the water, sat on one of the many rocks dotted along the shore, he thinks he knows why. The air smells of salt, tainted from the ocean, thick with remnants of liquid spraying up from the waves. Boats float on the surface, bobbing along the crests as they crash against the old wood, creaking and swaying with the force. In the distance there’s a red and white buoy that shows the strength of the waters today; not too strong, but rough enough to send it bouncing up and down. Whenever he is close to the ocean, he feels drawn to it, for some reason he truly cannot explain.

Ever since moving to New Brunswick, specifically Miscou Island, the small branch of the province filled with fisherman and a population of exactly one hundred and two (soon to be one hundred and three when baby Freddy is expected to be due in about a month), the ocean seems to call his name. He originally came to New Brunswick looking for a new life, somewhere reclusive and far away from everything he’s known, from the person he used to be. Then he saw a listing to become the island’s lighthouse keeper, taking over for the man who used to own the lighthouse, but died from his old age. They were desperately seeking someone and he called the number in the posting right away, had the job five minutes later, was moving to the island a week later.

Being from a small rural town in the middle of a country, the nearest body of water a small pond or lake, he hasn’t thought much about the oceans that surround the mass of land. Sure, he’s drawn them on his slightly-off maps of Canada when he was younger, colouring them a deep blue, cursing at all the little pieces that make up Nunavut. But other than in the occasional geography lesson, there was never a thought in his mind that related back to the sea.

Now that he’s here, though, in a town that is literally surrounded by the Atlantic, he can’t help but think about it. And he does think about it; a lot. He has full days of sitting at the top of the lighthouse, looking down on the sea, the only company he has being the large light that he sweeps across the water, and his dog, Max. The scruffy sheep dog forced his way into Scott’s life, and his heart, when he found the furry animal just before moving out to the island, him never leaving Scott’s side, not for a moment. There were no owners or wanted posters, so Scott took the stray with him.

Him and Max spend their days and nights in the lighthouse, trudging up the stairs just before the sun begins to set, then descending them when the sun rises. There is a small home at the base of the lighthouse, one with a kitchen, living room, and bedroom, reminiscent of the very first studio apartment Scott owned, before he became who he is. Or, who he was. That’s the purpose of living on a tiny island in New Brunswick; to renew himself. A start over, like the beginning of a video game when you lose all your lives and have to cowardly crawl back to the start.

Now that he is paying attention, Scott recognizes things about the ocean. It’s loud, is the first. It has different noises for different periods of the night, the day, the time when the world is so quiet you can almost believe it’s just you and a vast expanse of water. It’s mysterious, is the second. There are times when it exposes itself to him, like it has a million secrets and it’s chosen Scott, telling him one at a time, trusting him with all of the whispers that other ears are too sensitive to hear. He holds them close like skin.

One night it whispers to him the biggest secret to date.

He thinks he is seeing things at first, has to rub his fist over his eyes and take a big sip of water from the bottle he keeps near him while he works. Max jumps up on the little dashboard that holds the large light, his paws balancing on the edge, and he starts to bark. Scott shushes him and gently pushes his head until he tumbles off.

Beneath them, in the water, is something small and shiny. Though it may only seem tiny from the distance they are at, Scott knows there is a great depth to what his eyes are witnessing. The object reflects the light he emanates from the top of the large lighthouse, greens and blues glistening on the surface, moving like a snake. He thinks it could be a fish, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen one that big. Then he swears, _swears,_ that he sees a human hand.

He quickly opens one of the windows, just a crack, and even from the height, he can hear singing. The words are unintelligible, not any type of language he has ever heard, but it’s stunning, nonetheless. It draws him in, head feeling fuzzy, makes him want to jump out the window and into the water below him. Which is ridiculous. Quickly he closes the window and sits down on the chair against the far wall. Max trots over to him and places his head in his lap, big eyes looking up at him, a high whine escaping the dog’s throat. Scott just runs his fingers through the fur at the top of his head.

***

The other islanders welcomed him with open arms from the second he arrived on Miscou. There are so few of them that Scott quickly learned all of their names, listened to their advice, heard about all the places to visit on the island and the things to do. In reality, there is about one of everything on the island; one church, one post office, one restaurant, one grocery store, one cemetary, and one lighthouse, plus a few more things, of course. Everyone knows everything about every person on the island, that’s what Deloris, the mother currently carrying baby Freddy in her belly, told him on their first day of tea in her backyard. She lives closest to the lighthouse, stays home and makes clothing for the other islanders, takes care of her daughter, Valerie, and other son, Vincent (when he asked why Freddy was not going to have a name starting with the letter V, she simply rolled her eyes and said _because that’s stupid)._ It’s what puts him on edge, that someone might find out about his past, might know the person he used to be. No one does, it seems, and if they do, they don’t say anything about it. Thankfully.

Those afternoon tea sessions are when he first learned about the stories of the woman in the water.

“People have been seeing her for years,” Deloris says just before bringing the lip of the cup to her mouth and taking a sip of her still warm earl grey. Scott watches her carefully, his fingers buried in the fur on Max’s back, the dog panting at his feet. The sun is warm, but pleasant, for the middle of May. “She’s gorgeous, apparently.”

Scott coughs and places his tea on the table between them. “Have you seen her before?”

“No,” Deloris answers with the shake of her head. “Valerie came back one day from the beach, though, rambling about mermaids being real. Said she had seen one herself.”

He holds down the gasp in his throat and the sound of singing in his head. “Oh.”

“Be careful out there, Scott.” Deloris reaches her hand across and taps his own, twice, gently, her fingers cold despite the warmth in the air. “Don’t be a fool for her tricks.”

***

The first time he sees her, _really_ sees her, is surprisingly on the cusp of sunrise. He’s come down from the lighthouse for him and Max’s morning walk, the dog barking loudly as he runs along the sand and rocks, Scott slowly trailing him. The night before was long, a boat almost crashing into a huge collection of boulders, Scott having to sound his siren and flash the light, his heart in his throat, his palms sweating, hoping and praying. He’s exhausted, almost skipped out on the walk all together, but Max wouldn’t stop whining until he opened the front door with a sigh.

In the long run, he’s quite glad he decided to go.

About five minutes in and a few hundred feet away from the lighthouse, there’s a splashing sound beside him. There isn’t enough light yet from the sun, just orange and pink hughes colouring the water, so he has to squint. The blue and green shimmer can’t be missed, though. It even catches Max’s eye, who sits on the sand with his tail thumping on the ground, tongue hanging out of his mouth and head cocked to the side. His ear flops over and Scott unconsciously reaches out to tuck it back into place.

There’s another splash and the green and blue is gone, but soon followed by a clump of hair, brown and shiny, spreading across the top of the water. Another green quickly replaces the previous in the form of piercing eyes, staring at him, making his knees weak and his breath hitch.

“Hello!” he calls out, hoping his voice reaches across the distance. “Do you need help?!”

The person doesn’t say anything, just raises their head further above the surface, the water stopping just below her collar bones. She has a sharp jawline, one that could cut rock, and her lips are full and a deep red. He wants to touch her, wants to feel the very pale surface of her skin against his fingertips. She seems unattainable. That’s exactly what draws him in.

Max barks and barks and barks, the woman turning her head and widening her eyes at the dog. She seems frightened.

“Shh, Max!” Scott grabs the dog’s collar and tugs gently, just enough to get his attention. He keeps barking though, actually stands up and gets himself into a defensive stance. The woman notices the change in attitude and dips her head below the surface.

He waits and he waits and he waits for her to reappear. She never does.

***

Scott promises Deloris to babysit Valerie and Vincent while she goes out on a date with her husband, the last one before baby Freddy is supposed to be born. He sets up a whole drawing station at their kitchen table, Max settling himself under it with his head on Vincent’s feet, colours splayed across the wood in the form of markers and crayons and pencils. Scott is more focused on the hockey game on the television (Deloris is one of the only people who has good working cable in the town), small _yes_ ’s escaping his mouth when his team scores, hisses of _no_ when the other does. It isn’t until Valerie taps his hand on the table that he notices.

“Do you like my drawing?” she asks him, holding up the piece of paper proudly. She’s only eight, so the picture isn’t the greatest, for sure doesn’t belong in the Louvre or anything of that sort, but it makes him gasp nonetheless.

It’s of the woman in the water, her hair long and brown, the features of her face sharp, her eyes as close to the green he spotted those few nights ago that Crayola can provide. “It’s beautiful,” he tells the girl.

She smiles, satisfied, and places the drawing back on the table. “Her name is Tessa.”

He has no idea how she knows this, if it’s actually a fact or something made from the imagination of a little girl, but it somehow fits.

***

The ocean spits up the greatest mystery on a Saturday when he is walking back from Deloris’.

There is a naked body laying on the shore and Scott, always thinking the worst, runs towards it. Max is close on his heels, little barks and ruffs escaping his mouth. Once he gets close enough he sees that it’s a woman. She has her back against the ground, arms spread out beside her, hands fisting the sand. Her eyes are open, her jaw relaxed, just staring up at the sky. Her green eyes take in the clouds floating above them. She looks at peace.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he gets to her side. She slowly turns her head, not moving any other part of her body, and stares at him instead now. No words are spoken, it looks like she hasn’t even heard him. So he asks again, “Are you okay?” to which he gets absolutely no response.

There is a cut, he notices, running up the front of one of her calves, right beside the bone. It looks bad, ragged, blood breaking through the surface. She doesn’t seem like she is in pain, though. Until he reaches out and she flinches away from him. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Can I look at your leg?” She doesn’t respond and he wonders if maybe she can’t understand English. So, he clears his throat and points to the injury, scrunches his face up in mock pain and says, “Ow.”

To his surprise, she giggles. It’s this dainty sound, like the ringing of a silver bell at Christmas time, and it pleasantly circles in his head. He wants to tape record it and play it on a constant loop.

He gestures once again to her leg and raises his eyebrows, to which she responds by shuffling her body closer and shyly offering him her injured appendage. His hands are gentle when he takes her leg in his hands, and he is more than shocked to feel how cold it is. An automatic bodily reaction would be to drop it, but his brain intercepts this before he can, instead holds tighter onto her leg and brings it closer to him. She follows him so easily it should be frightening.

Upon investigating, the injury appears to be surface level, not cutting too deep, and possibly even better looking than it was minutes ago, as if time itself is healing it. “I have things in my house that can help you,” he says before remembering her lack of understanding of his words. He points to his house, tries to soften his face, and says, “Help.”

She blinks her eyes at him and he thinks that if he keeps her gaze too long he might actually suffocate. But he can’t seem to bring himself to break it. He holds onto her leg tighter, holds onto her eyes longer, never wants to let go of her. It’s crazy. Women used to fall at his feet, used to give themselves over to him, but now it appears to be him who is handing every piece of himself to this woman. He hasn’t even heard her speak.

***

When they get into his house, the woman looks around in awe. Even the oven captures her attention. He guides her to the couch and gently sets her down, holds his hands out and says, “stay,” like he’s talking to Max instead of another human being. She folds her hands in her lap and that’s when he realizes that she is still naked. He can’t help but trail his eyes up her body, up her pale legs that are thin but muscular, which seems to be the theme of the rest of her body; muscles rippling under almost every inch of her skin. Her hair, long and sinewy from the water that drips down the dark strands, covers her chest and most of her torso. With one last glance, he heads down the hallway to his bedroom.

Scott comes back, a few packs of gauze in one hand, a sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants in the other, to see Max sitting in front of the woman, the two of them staring at each other carefully. He would laugh if it were any other situation. It looks like they are communicating silently, the woman’s face changing expressions as if she is having a full conversation, Max tilting his head and letting out little _ruffs_ under his breath.

“Uhm.” The woman turns her head and so does Max, the two of them looking like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t be. “Weird,” he mumbles under his breath, then walks towards them. “Do you want to put this on?” he asks her, holding out the sweatshirt.

She takes it from him and turns it around in her own hands, running her fingers over the material. After a moment, she brings it up to her face and rubs it against her cheek. Scott laughs.

“No, no.” He takes it back from her and she frowns in disappointment. Scott simply just unfolds the sweatshirt and balls the bottom up into his fists. “Here.” He slowly moves towards her head with the sweatshirt, giving her time to move away if she wants to, which she doesn’t. The collar of the clothing is pulled over her head, face popping through with a smile, and he pulls the rest of it over her, helping her arms through the sleeves. For some reason, he doesn’t find it odd that this woman doesn’t know how to dress herself. It just… makes sense.

Once he gets the top half of her dressed, he tends to her cut, cleans it with a nearby bottle of medical alcohol and gauze, then wraps it up, but not too tightly that it would cut her circulation off. It’s odd, though. Even in the short span of time that they transferred themselves from the shore to the lighthouse, the wound seems to have healed even more, not completely, but the deep red turns to a soft pink, splatters of purple and yellow indicating a bruise has already formed. After the injury is covered, he helps her into the sweatpants, one leg at a time, her fingers playing with the strings once they are settled around her hips.

Scott looks out the nearest window and sees that the sun has set and left darkness behind.

“Shit,” he grumbles, quickly cleaning up the mess of medical supplies and throwing them in the kitchen garbage. He whistles for Max, but he doesn’t show up. With one glance, he notices the dog now on the couch beside the woman, practically half of his large body settled in her lap. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, she just roughly pats his head like she’s never touched an animal before.

The black night outside and the accompanying stars signal the start of his shift, which he really needs to get to, but he doesn’t want to leave her behind. He doesn’t think she could make it up all of the stairs, though.

“Max,” he says the dogs name firmly, to which he responds by lifting his head off the woman’s lap and tilting it. “Keep her company, okay?” Max barks once, high and acknowledging. The woman jumps slightly, then laughs to herself, fingers once again dancing along the dog’s back.

Scott shakes his head and makes the trek up the stairs, thinking the whole time of green eyes and a strange presence that keeps drawing him further and further in.

***

The second the sun begins to rise, he powers down the spotlight and scrambles down the staircase. Max and the woman are both nowhere to be found. Scott looks around the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, in every nook and cranny he can find. To no avail, the woman and his dog aren’t anywhere to be found. Until he pops his head into the bathroom.

“What the fuck?”

The woman is sat in the dry bathtub, clothes still on, her legs crossed, Max sat behind her, also in the tub. Her hands hover under the spout and her eyes are narrowed.

She speaks, and he’s so shocked, he can’t even be sure of what she says. But then she repeats herself. “Water,” she grumbles. Her eyes narrow even further and she stares daggers at the tap, as if she is willing it to turn on. “Water,” she says, a little louder and more forceful.

“Yeah,” Scott responds, walking to sit on the edge of the tub. “That’s water. Are you thirsty?”

She turns and looks at him and just repeats herself. “Water.”

“Come on, then.” He grabs her hands that are still stuck under the spout and gently tugs until she is standing up. It’s the first that he’s noticed how shaky she is on her legs. He helps her out of the tub and takes her to the kitchen, sits her at the table, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He uncaps it and places it down in front of her. She just stares at it. “Go on,” he encourages. “Drink.”

She picks it up, much too tightly, squeezing the plastic and forcing water to spill from the top. As it drips down her hand she giggles delightfully. “Water!” The lid of the bottle is shoved in her mouth and she drinks from it quickly, emptying the contents in the blink of an eye. Her whole body sags in the chair she sits at. It’s as if the liquid completely puts her at ease.

It’s not until she puts the bottle down that everything clicks into place.

“Tessa,” he gasps. The photo Valerie drew flashes behind his eyes, the green and blue, the water lapping around a floating head. Her eyes. “Holy shit.”

Her eyes widen when he speaks the name, meaning that Valerie was right. It wasn’t something made up from the mind of a child. It was real. It _is_ real. This woman in front of him, who really isn’t even a woman, is named Tessa. She’s an enigma, a myth, a legend. She’s a movie and a book and a story that every child around the world is aware of. She’s the manifestation of power and beauty. She’s…

“A mermaid. You’re a mermaid.”

***

He raps against Deloris’ front door, hopes that the family hasn’t already gone to church, Tessa and Max waiting behind him. Luckily, Deloris pulls open the door with a smile and a rag draped over her shoulder.

“Scott!” she greets with a smile. Her eyes venture behind him, most likely catching sight of Tessa, and her expression turns into confusion. “Who is this?” She stares at Tessa curiously, carefully, definitely not as inviting as when she had looked at Scott for the very first time.

“Is Valerie home?” Scott asks, ignoring Deloris’ question.

Deloris looks like she knows something is off, but she just says, “yes,” and opens the door further. She calls for her daughter and lets the two of them inside, along with Max, closing the screen shut behind them.

They wait for Valerie, who comes running down the stairs, gasping when she sees them. “Tessa!” she shouts excitedly, racing up to the woman and hugging her tightly around the waist. Tessa giggles and doesn’t seem phased whatsoever, just drops to her knees and hugs the girl back. When they pull away, Tessa cups Valerie’s face gently with one hand. “You’re here.”

Tessa nods.

“Who is this, Scott?” Deloris asks again, harsher this time, like she won’t go any further into this conversation until she gets some answers.

Scott looks at her sheepishly and says, “Do you have time for tea?”

***

Deloris spits out her earl grey when he tells her.

“You’re fucking with me.”

Scott can’t help but laugh, having never heard Deloris say any swear word worse than crap. “Nope,” he replies, popping the p. “You know how Valerie was insistent on mermaids being real?”

“And only drawing them and nothing else?” Deloris adds. Then she nods and places her tea cup down. “So this is Tessa.” He hums and keeps looking at the woman in question, running around the yard with Valerie, Vincent, and Max, all of their laughter and barks (Max’s, of course), filling the air comfortably. “How did she get here?”

“No clue,” Scott says with a shrug. “I just found her, naked and hurt, on the shore last night.”

“She was hurt?” Deloris presses with concern.

“Just her leg,” he clarifies. “There was a pretty bad cut on it, but she seems to be okay now.” He gestures to where she is now carrying Vincent easily on her back. The boy weighs practically nothing, but nonetheless, she doesn’t look in pain at all.

Deloris picks her mug of tea back up and takes one long sip before saying, in a knowing voice, “Interesting.”

***

It seems that he spends every hour of every day of the next week waiting for Tessa to leave. He holds her at a distance, not allowing himself to be swallowed up in her, even though every part of himself wants to be. She’s come into his life so quickly, it’s only a matter of time until she leaves just as fast. He’s just standing by until she slips away. But she doesn’t. She stays, wiggling herself into every nook of his life, making herself at home in the bottom of a lighthouse. His lighthouse. Even if he wanted to get rid of her, he’s not sure she would want to leave.

Communicating is a little difficult, he’s found. Valerie is the best one out of all of them, is able to get messages across and understand Tessa’s expressions and gestures, no words needed between the girl and the mermaid. And isn’t that fucked up. The mermaid. Scott finds that he reminds himself of this fact just as much as he does the fact that she could be gone one day.

He tries to teach her things, like how clothing, which Deloris lends so that she isn’t stuck in the oppressive heat in his oversized sweatpants and sweaters, isn’t an optional thing. He points to objects and repeats the names of them until she seems to understand. The ones that she is best at are _Max_ and _Scott_ and _apple,_ which quickly becomes her favourite food, inhaling slices that he cuts up for her in the matter of seconds. And the day that he pulls out the jar of peanut butter and spreads it on one of the slices, offering it to her, the nutty spread is quickly added to her vocabulary as well. She also picks up small phrases like _thank you_ and _hello,_ even if she doesn’t use them at all the proper times.

Sleep, Scott discovers, is something that Tessa is not fond of. At first, he lets her take over his bed, but when he started waking up after a few hours and finding her on the floor of the living room patting Max’s belly, he took back his bed. That’s when it changed. He found out that perhaps it isn’t sleep that she isn’t fond of, but it’s not being near Scott. The first night he sleeps in his bed once again, he wakes up to Tessa beside him, her head on the pillow and her eyes shut, breathing evenly. He doesn’t ask questions or force her out because, in all reality, he finds that her presence is the most comforting one he’s ever been around.

There’s also the fact that she is absolutely beautiful, the most beautiful person he has ever seen, in person or otherwise. She could rival the models of past, present, and future, could compete against the most universally aesthetically pleasing women and most likely win. He thinks it’s her eyes, the strength that her mere posture holds, her ability to express and emote with just her face and body. It’s dangerous, which is how he discovers Sirens.

“Tessa,” he says her name gently after his head has been reeling for his whole shift up in the top of the lighthouse. She looks up from where she was playing with one of Max’s floppy ears. “Are you… are you here for a reason?”

She shuffles off of the couch and steps towards him, hands cupping his face. One of the things he’s been trying to teach her about is personal space, but he doesn’t quite mind when it comes to himself, in fact, he quite enjoys the feeling of her too close. “Scott,” is all she replies with. Does that mean he is her reason? Does that mean every dark thought he’s allowed himself to think is true? That she’s here to draw him in only to destroy him?

“Are you a Siren?” he asks, plain and simple.

Her eyes widen at the name and she utters something in a thick accent, a word that’s not English, but sounds similar to one he’s just uttered. _Siren._ “Yes,” she says softly.

He grabs her wrists and pulls her hands from his face, takes a step back, wills his heart to slow down. “Tessa.”

“No.” She urgently reaches out for him again, manages to grab the front of his t-shirt and pulls in close. He goes with the force, of course he does, he’d never be able to fight it. “You… good.” Her words might be minimal but her face says it all. The dark thoughts in his head were wrong.

“You’re good too,” he mumbles back, his hand grabbing her wrist again but instead of pushing her away he just rubs his thumb over her pulse point. “You’re more than good, Tessa.”

She smiles, like she understands the depth of his words, like she can understand everything that he feels for this strange woman who forced herself into his life, one that Scott has no want to let go of.

***

They start to watch movies on his shitty television with an even shittier DVD collection and player. He starts with something close to the real world, which is, of course, why he chooses Clueless. It wasn’t his best decision seeing as Tessa then walks around the house for the next few days saying _oh my GOD_ in response to everything, in the exact voice of Cher, driving him a little mad.

Then he moves onto the classics. When Harry Met Sally, Legally Blonde, Pretty Woman, 10 Things I Hate About You, 13 Going On 30, the whole gamut. She watches in a deep focus as each picture flashes across the screen, laughs when something silly happens, reacts in wonderment at times that a child might. The first time that two main characters kiss, or even depict a sexual encounter (in a vague way because they aren’t watching porn, of course), is a whole other issue.

“What?” Tessa asks, pointing at the screen as Harry and Sally make out after Sally’s just finished her crying fit. She’s started to do this when they are watching movies and she is unsure of what is occurring on the screen. First it was for Cher’s car in Clueless, then a cat in another rom com he can’t remember the name of, now it is for two characters kissing each other, hands venturing everywhere, backs falling against a bed.

Scott clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on the couch. He’s not sure why he is blushing. “Kissing,” he clarifies for her, putting a name to the action. “You do it with people you love.” And that’s not completely true but he’s been treating his education as if she is a young child and he is worried about her actually kissing someone who she doesn’t feel heavy emotions towards. His niece once kissed a girl on the playground and he chuckled through the whole conversation his brother had with the teacher on speaker phone.

“Love?” Tessa asks, mouth forming gently around the word. Scott thinks the way she says it is the only way the word should ever be pronounced; like a whisper and a shout all at the same time. Her head tilts to the side and he can’t help but reach out and play with the ends of her long hair.

“It’s a feeling.” He places his hand on his chest, right over his heart. “You oftentimes feel it in here. Where your heart is. It can make your insides feel funny,” he moves his hand to his stomach, “and your head fuzzy.” He moves the hand to pat at the top of his head.

Tessa reaches forward and places her hand right over his heart. “Love,” she says, a giggle quickly following. She pats his chest lightly and curls her fingers over his shirt, gripping the material in her fist. “Love.”

Then she leans forward and presses her lips against his own.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Scott gently grabs her shoulders and pushes her back, holds her out at a distance and looks her up and down with wide eyes. He can’t believe she just kissed him. “What are you doing?” His voice cracks.

Tessa furrows her brows and tilts her head. Her finger reaches out and pokes him in the chest, just on this side of painful, once again directly over his heart. “Love, Scott.” It sounds like she is signing off a postcard. She shakes her head in frustration and tries again. “Tessa,” she pokes herself in the chest, “love Scott.”

He inhales sharply and it feels like a bottle of champagne has bursted inside of him. “No, Tess, I think you’re confused. You don’t love me.” He shakes his head while he speaks, trying to get her to understand. She doesn’t love him, there’s no way.

“Yes,” she says sternly, sounding dejected.

Tessa reaches for him again, hands grabbing his cheeks, and pulls him in for another kiss. She persists, holds him tightly, weaves her fingers through his hair. There’s a bit too much pressure being applied for his taste, so he cups his own hand around her chin and pulls her away a bit. She whines, fucking _whines,_ like a petulant child, but he makes sure to keep his lips on hers. He’s not pulling away, he’s making it better.

Quickly, Tessa catches on to the whole kissing ordeal, her mouth moving softly against his own. He has to hold back, has to remind himself that she’s never kissed anyone before. Hell, ten minutes ago she didn’t even know what a kiss was. But damn if it isn’t difficult. He wants to completely devour her, wants her to do the same to him, wants to use his mouth on all the nooks and crannies her body possesses and bring her to heights of pleasure he’s not even sure she knows exist.

But he can’t do that.

So, he plants one last kiss to her mouth, then one to the high point of her cheek, and pulls away.

She’s smiling at him, eyes squinty like she’s looking at the sun rather than Scott. He wants to kiss her again so badly.

“I think it’s time for bed,” he says.

Upon hearing the word _bed,_ both Tessa and Max jump up from their spots on the couch and the floor, respectively, and run towards his bedroom. Scott just laughs under his breath and follows close behind.

***

They sit on the rocks by the shore, side-by-side. Tessa throws a massive stick that she found on their walk to the spot and Max plays fetch with her. Scott loves the face she makes every time Max proves his loyalty by running right back to them, the piece of wood and his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

Suddenly, Tessa grabs his hand and flips it around to trace the inside of his palm. “What?” she asks, her nail tickling the lines his skin naturally possesses.

“Hand,” he tells her, once again teaching her the words to her endless inquiries about the human world. Apparently today her questions are geared towards humans in general.

She hums and nods before grabbing the very tip of his pointer finger and shaking it up and down gently. He laughs and says, “finger,” which she repeats immediately.

Her hands travel up his body; arm, elbow, shoulder, collarbone, sternum, chest. Once they reach his jaw, cupping lighter than a feather, he can’t help the way his eyelashes flutter. He hasn’t been touched this way in a long while.

“Lips,” she says when her hand hovers over his cupid’s bow, not quite touching, but close enough that he swears he can taste the salt from her fingers. She must remember from those few nights ago when she pressed her own mouth against his.

Her head tilts in question, waiting to be acknowledged, and he does so with a nod. “Yes. Lips.”

She smiles brighter than the sun and her touch, when she finally closes the gap between her fingers and his mouth, burns like it too. “Love.”

He doesn’t have it in him to correct her, to say that lips don’t mean love and that kisses aren’t a manifestation of a feeling. He can’t say it because it wouldn’t be true; not for him, and not for them. Because in the short span of time that he’s know her, she’s stolen everything from him. He wants to pick up her hands and call them by their new name; heart. That would be their new title because his own sits in them, ripped from his chest, this foreign girl holding on with no clue as to the hurricane she brought with her when she landed on that beach all those nights ago.

The sight of a fish jumping out of the water in the distance catches his eye.

“I wish you could tell me more about yourself,” he mumbles. There’s a stick in his hand that he uses to draw shapes into the sand below them. “I feel like it’s me teaching you about this world when I know nothing about where you come from.”

Tessa stares at him intently and smiles softly. She picks up his hand in her own and holds it tightly, their fingers lacing together, then squeezes. No words need to be spoken for him to understand her.

It doesn’t matter where she comes from; it matters that she is here.

***

She’s been living in his house for two months when she finds the photos of his family.

“Who?” she asks, plopping down on the couch beside him, careful not to disrupt Max from his afternoon nap. A photograph is held in her hand and he takes it from her to examine it closer.

It’s from a few years ago, both of his brothers flanking his right side, the three of them lined up from oldest to youngest. All of them hold big grins and even bigger bottles of beer. This was after he helped his team win the Stanley Cup, the first in decades. He knows because he can see the exhaustion forming in his eyes, not yet boiling, but bubbling on the surface.

“My family,” he tells her. “That’s Danny,” he points to the brother furthest from him in the photo, “and that’s Charlie.” His finger moves to touch the other man directly beside him.

“Scott!” Tessa says excitedly while pointing at the him reflected in the photo.

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Her pointer finger circles around all of them, him and his brothers, and she looks to him; the real him. “Family?”

“Yes,” he says with a nod. “That’s my family. There is more of us, my mom and my dad, my nieces and nephews, a whole Moir clan that I’m not even sure can fit in a picture frame.” A chuckle escapes at the thought of every time all of the Moirs had attempted get togethers and photographs to commemorate the rare occasions when they all can gather in the same few hundred feet of each other.

Tessa hums, deep in her throat, and nods her head. Her understanding of the English language and the land has grown over the past month, but Scott still isn’t sure what she actually does absorb and what she pretends to comprehend. “Jordan,” she says suddenly.

“Jordan?” Scott repeats.

She nods. “Yes. Jordan. Family.”

Scott still isn’t sure about what Tessa’s life was like in the water. He wasn’t sure where she came from, who she was with a tail full of scales, what everything to her was when she was a mermaid. There are so many questions he wants to ask her and he knows he will never get them all answered, but it seems that she is telling him, in her own unique Tessa way, about her family under the sea. Jordan must be someone special to her, someone she perceives as fitting under the definition of the word. Do fish even have families?

A frown forms on her face, the skin around her mouth forming into deep wrinkles. He wants to reach out and smooth her lips. “Sad,” is all she says, the emotion dripping in her tone.

“Do you miss them?” he asks, a hand rubbing up and down her back. “Are you sad because Jordan is not here?” He points to the couch they are taking space upon.

She nods. “Yes. Jordan miss.”

Scott assumes she means that she misses Jordan, whoever this person is, and his heart hurts for her. He didn’t know people would be waiting for her back home, wherever that may be. He’s been selfishly holding onto the wonder that is Tessa, not wanting to let her go or even help her return. Perhaps he should start.

***

He asks Deloris and she points him in the direction of a man who lives on the other side of the island in an old shack that looks as if it’s two seconds away from crumbling at the foundation. The door, Scott discovers upon knocking twice, is about the sturdiest thing about the small home.

A man with grey hair and a beard longer than Scott’s ever seen on a person before peeks his head through a small crack that he makes when he pulls the door from the frame, his eyes squinted and brows furrowed. He gives Scott a glance over then says, in a deep gruff voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

It sounds like something out of a horror movie and causes Scott to clench his hands into tight fists. He’s glad he convinced Tessa to stay at home with Max.

“You have?” Scott asks carefully.

The man nods. “Yes. Come in.”

Scott follows him into the home, looking around and seeing trinkets covering every inch of the small space. From ornaments to windchimes to the skeletons of fish pinned to the walls, it looks like a hoarder has set up camp. The shine of a scale, a familiar blueish-green, catches Scott’s eye. His heart drops.

“How did you know I was coming?” Scott asks, stopping in his tracks, not willing to venture any further into the unfamiliar space.

The man turns around and smiles. “She’s never grown legs before. I always wondered why, when she had every opportunity. Maybe it was fear, perhaps it was her being apprehensive to the human world. Now I know it’s because she never found someone worth her while. Not until you, of course.”

Scott feels his mouth go dry. “Me?”

“Come sit.” A chair is pulled out for him, one of four scattered around a wooden table, and the man gestures for him to take a seat. He does so hesitantly. “What’s your name, boy?” The man asks as he takes the chair across from him.

“Scott.”

“Harold.”

Scott doesn’t know what to do other than nod, his hands wringing together under the table in a nervous habit, and say, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“I have many questions to ask you,” Harold says to him, a warm smile taking over his face, inviting Scott in to whatever world this cavern holds.

“And I think as do I for you.”

***

That night he eats dinner with Tessa; spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, even a glass of red wine each. Her giggles increase in frequency for every sip she takes of the alcohol, her limbs become flimsier, her posture loosening with each intake of food. He likes her like this, when she laughs with him, communications not needed. No learning, no confusion, no misunderstandings. They can simply eat and smile and eat and laugh and eat and simply be.

“Tessa,” he says her name, a heaviness in his tone akin to the way his stomach feels. The plates have been long cleared and now it’s the two of them, sitting across from each other at the table, Max laying on her feet with his head pillowed in her lap. It’s a picture of domesticity and Scott can’t bear to stare too long. “I met with someone today.”

He’s not sure if she understands him, but she listens attentively anyways, her face opening to him and her body language communicating more than words ever could.

Scott takes in a big breath and holds it in his lungs.

“Did you come here for me?”

Tessa’s eyes widen significantly, her hand pausing on Max’s head. Her spine straightens and she sits up with her legs crossed at the ankles. If he stares hard enough he can see blue and green and fishy scales and a massive fin. She doesn’t belong here. As much as he wants her, she’s not his.

He breaks his heart in half when he says, “you can’t stay here anymore.”

She doesn’t say anything (not that she ever has a lot of words on the tip of her tongue, anyways), just stands up and walks over to him. Her knees hit the floor with a thud and her hands are warm when they come to rest over his heart.

“I love you,” she whispers.

His eyes feel heavy with moisture when he clamps his own hands over hers. “I wish you could stay. And I know you won’t understand me when I tell you that you’ve changed my life. Tess, I– I didn’t know who I was before you. I lost myself, and that’s why I came here. I don’t know if it’s silly to think that fate brought me here, to the ocean, to you. But I believe that you were in my life for a reason, even if it was only for a short time.”

When he looks up, Tessa’s got a tear tracking down her cheek. She scrunches her brows and touches her face where the liquid drips off her chin. Her tongue pokes out to touch her finger, to taste her tears, and she reels back in surprise.

“Home,” she says with a childlike amazement.

Scott chuckles. “It’s time to go home, T.”

***

Sometimes he’ll sit by the ocean and think of her. He tries not to, it hurts too much, but there are moments when it soothes him more than pains him. The lull of the waves and the sun reflecting off the surface of the water are sparks in time with her. Sounds of boats slapping against the currents remind him of her skin. Buoys bobbing on the surface remind him of her movements. Seagulls cawing in the distance remind him of her laugh. Seaweed floating around his feet remind him of her eyes.

Two months go by and he loses and finds himself, all at once.

He can’t get out of bed for the first little bit. Max lays with him, a heavy weight on his stomach. Sometimes to dog looks even sadder than Scott feels, his big brown eyes looking lost, looking solemn, always looking for someone who will never appear. They warned him to be careful; he just didn't care to listen.

Deloris comes over with tea and the kids, her newest bundle smiling at Scott, all gums and chubby cheeks and an innocence Scott wishes he could cling to. He does cling to him, refuses to let go of Freddy until Deloris is trying to explain to him that he can’t keep her child forever, no matter how much she wants to get away from his loud crying in the middle of the night. Valerie hands him a drawn picture on the way out. It’s of him and Tessa and Max, the three of them crowded together outside of an oddly shaped building that must be the lighthouse. He doesn’t cry, but he does pin it to his fridge.

Eventually, he makes it back out to Harold’s shack.

“She’s gone back home?” the man asks, sincerity and sadness settled on his face.

Scott nods. “Yeah. I gave her this big long speech, felt like an absolute idiot.” He chuckles to himself. “I didn’t even tell her I love her even though she said it to me. I’m not sure she even understood anything I said.”

Harold narrows his eyes and leans forward. “What do you mean? Of course she understood you.”

“What?”

“Sirens understand every language. Speaking it is a whole other story, they need to hear different examples and dialects and the accents always get to them, but that little bugger knew exactly what she was doing.” Harold just smiles, a massive grin wrinkling his face.

Scott thinks back to his interactions with Tessa. She never once indicated she didn’t understand him. In fact, she was always so attentive to him. At first it was rocky, sure, but after time she would sit and listen to him ramble about anything and everything. He told her about his struggles, his sorrows, his successes and failures. He thought she was a blank diary for him to vent his feelings.

She knows everything.

***

He wakes up to Max barking.

“Shh, Max! It’s early!” Scott yells at the dog, pulls the covers over his head to block out the sun and the sound of his animal’s noises that are much too loud.

A cold nose presses against his leg that’s hanging outside of the duvet. Scott groans and rolls out of bed, eyes bleary, to let Max outside. When he does, the dog bolts directly to the shoreline, barking in a manner that Scott’s never heard before. It concerns him. The feeling only grows when he sees a person kneeling in the sand, hands reaching for Max. Scott can’t see who it is, he can only feel a pit of fear growing in his stomach that some stranger is about to steal his dog.

“Hey!” he shouts, not thinking about the fact that he’s only in boxers and an old t-shirt, and runs out the door. “That’s my dog!”

The closer he gets the clearer the person becomes. They’re a female; they have brown hair; they are shorter than he is; they have a laugh that sounds like church bells; green eyes.

He halts, heels digging in the sand.

“Tessa.”

She looks up and smiles at him, her hands shoved in Max’s fur and rubbing everywhere she can reach on the dog’s body.

“Hi Scott.”

He can’t help but drop to his knees, giving into every feeling that’s weighed him down the past two months. All he can feel right now, though, is joy.

“You’re here,” he says, bewildered, needing to voice it out loud so he can start believing it.

“Yes.” She stands up and walks closer to him, then once again kneels on the sand in front of him. Her hands reach out to cup his cheeks and he basks in the warmth of her touch. “I missed you.”

He turns his head and kisses the inside of her wrist. “I missed you, too. So much, Tess.” This is too good to be true. She shouldn’t be back here. She should be at home, with her family, in the form she was born into. As much as he wants her, he can’t have Tessa. She doesn’t belong to him. “Why are you here?”

“You don’t want me to be?” she asks, her face and voice turned sad.

She’s just about to pull her hands away when he grabs onto them and holds tight. Perhaps too tight. Just because he should let go doesn’t mean he wants to.

“Of course I want you to be,” he tells her. “I want that more than anything.”

“Good.” She smiles and kisses the back of one of his hands. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Scott. I want to be here; with you.”

He realizes, with a shock, the way she is speaking. Full sentences, proper grammar, no hesitation or questioning pauses where she needs to think of what words she should choose next.

“How did you get here?”

She smirks. “I pulled some strings.”

“Tessa, I can’t let you do that. It’s not—“

“Oh, stop.” She hushes him and leans in close, her forehead leaning against his own. “You’ll do a lot for those that you love.”

***

Deloris brings her lawn chairs to his home. They set them up in the sand, an umbrella shading them so that Freddy can stay protected from the harsh rays. He’s got a cup of green tea, her earl grey. They sip and they talk and the sound of laughter surrounds them.

Valerie, Vincent, Tessa and Max run around a few feet ahead of them. Water splashes where they wade in the shallow shores. It took a while for Tessa to allow the sea back into her life, but once she did there was no going back. She welcomed it with open arms.

Turns out the sea isn’t her home; she is the home of the sea. The tides move for her and the currents curl around her form. She manipulates the monster that is the ocean with just her bare hands. It listens to her when they trade secrets that are whispered to each other from the tips of their tongues. Scott watches in amazement everytime.

“So it’s been a year since you moved to the island,” Deloris says to him, bounding Freddy in her arms, the baby chewing on his fist and drool dripping down his chin.

Scott just smiles and reaches out with a napkin to wipe it off. “It has been.”

“Was it anything you expected it to be?” Deloris asks in a tone that holds a million innuendos.

He looks at Tessa holding Vincent on her hip, her other hand squeezing Valerie’s hand. Max runs by and splashes them all with water which receives several squeals in reaction. “Nope, not at all.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Scott answers immediately. “Good.”

Tessa turns around and waves to him and he swear the sea does, too.

“Very good.”


End file.
